Confessions of the Sane: An Exit
by Elguardiuz
Summary: She built herself a torture chamber, with all the guillotines, knifes and saws. It's just unfortunate that she forgot to build herself an exit. Genfic.


**Title: **Confessions of the Sane: An Exit

**Author: **Elguardiuz

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Angst

**Summary: **She built herself a torture chamber, with all the guillotines, knifes and saws. It's just unfortunate that she forgot to build herself an exit.

**Author's Note: **Hi. I'm back with an angstttttt!

Okay so this is actually a pretty psychological fic, because I wanna be a psychiatrist.

OH AND GUESS WHOSE POV THIS IS!

Oh, and this thing is unbeta-ed. So I'm sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistake.

**Disclaimer: **Again, Elguardiuz owns nothing.

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**Confessions of the Sane: An Exit**

**By: Elguardiuz**

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You'd know that you zone out a lot more the past days.

You'd think that you're going crazy, insane. You'd feel like you're stuck in one place.

Imprisoned.

Or you'd feel like you moved from one place to the other way too much.

And you'd feel like it messed your mind and you'd know that these kinds of things don't just heal itself. It was going to eat you inside.

Eat you whole.

And you would know it wouldn't be from some random disease. Cause you'd know, if it's a disease, you won't feel it when it spread inside your body, eating you alive, taking you little by little, until the symptoms take toll on you, and that's when you'd feel the pain.

While if it was insanity, you'd feel it.

You would feel yourself losing your mind; you'll feel a wall that's going to build itself, between you and reality, the real world. You'll feel it building itself between you and your dreams, you and everyone you know. And then you'll feel the everlasting loneliness, the empty hole deep inside. The need for someone to understand your pain, your sorrow.

But in the end, you won't have anyone that would understand you.

And you would feel ashamed.

Ashamed. Ashamed. Ashamed.

Ashamed of yourself for being in this state. For being something that people are ashamed of.

And at one point you'd know you need help, and you'd want to **need **help, even though you don't want any help, but you need them.

And all of them will bundle into a weird, disastrous round circle. It would repeat itself over and over and over again into an endless amount of rotation.

It'll keep on turning and turning and turning and turning.

Until you find yourself stuck, truly alone, with meds on your blood, in a hospital bed, with a locked door.

Everyone who cares about you or those who you thought cared about you, not being there.

And you would sit alone in that squeaky pale white hospital bed, crying alone because no one understands you. And then you would start to over-think (if you can still think that is) everything.

You would start thinking about how lonely you are, how tired you are.

How tired you are of being lonely.

Of feeling abandoned.

And the glow in your eyes, the _**green green green **_glow in your eyes will disappear.

It'll fade slowly, slowly, slowly.

Until it gets dim, dimmer and so dim that you can't find any trace of the gleam ever exist.

And then you'll be stuck inside your own, trapping world.

Just you and your thoughts, echoing into the tall, white walls. And every thought hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Cause you won't be thinking straight. Everything will just be an endless train of jumbled, mixed up words. And it won't stop (it _**never **_stops), cause you'd be mumbling it all day, all night.

And then you'd reach one point where people will start giving you sad stares, they would pat you on the back (or not touch you at all), they would put a (_**fake**_) sad expression on their face, a grief expression on their faces.

And then they'd start voicing their (_**sane**_) thoughts.

"She was such a brilliant girl."

"Her pink hair used to be _**worshiped.**_"

"She had this whole future in front of her, waiting to happen."

And that would be the moment you snap.

The moment where you'd tell them that **this **is your future. That you never had one in the first place. That this is bound to happen. That every single crap they told you were lies.

_**Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.**_

Just dumb stupid lies to comfort you. To comfort you from the fact that you're losing your mind. The fact that you're fighting a battle that you can't, and never win.

That they should just shut the bullcrap, so that they won't get your hopes up for absolutely nothing.

And then you'd shout at them, saying that they should just stop covering it up from you.

That they know, and they know you know that you're in hell. You're in fucking hell in which you created yourself, and you can't (and may _**never**_) escape.

That you're trapped.

_**Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.**_

You're trapped in a torture chamber that you built in your very own head. You yourself, built all of the guillotines, all the saws, the knifes.

And yet, you forgot to build an exit.

And then sometimes you will scream.

_**Scream. Scream. Scream. Scream.**_

You'd scream your entire heart out, scream your lungs out, and scream your **everything **out.

You would pull your pink locks in frustration because you're crazy. You're insane. And then you'd scratch the white walls with your completely bitten out nails. Those nails that was once manicured to perfection, that was once made to make every other girl jealous, that could've made so much wonders.

And then you would cry. Cry every single day. Cry to a pillow and scream at how unfair all this is. How unfair the world is.

At how the world redeems that you're not worthy to fit on the society.

The society at your school. At your neighbourhood.

Or even at your own family.

How some of them looked at you with disgust in their eyes because of the thing on your head that you can't control.

And then people would silently reject you.

When you and your parents wait in the waiting room for your therapist, some would whisper behind your back, and they would pretend that you can't hear them.

They would pretend that you're deaf. That you're blind.

That you're not a human being, with (in)sane thoughts.

They would pretend that you simply don't exist.

And you'd pretend too. You'd pretend that they didn't hurt your feelings (if you still have one, that is).

Pretend that they're still those friends that you used to hang out with.

Those friends that lent you pencil on your crazy-hard math test on mid-terms.

Those friends you used to play tag with on fourth grade.

And you would pretend that you're okay. Even though you know, deep, deep inside your tiny little heart that you're not and never will be okay.

And you know that you're just a tired, sorry and pitiful human being.

And then one day you'd feel tired (not that you haven't been tired before).You'd feel real tiredness. Tired of what has been going on. Tired of the glares, the mocks. Tired of people, tired of your own mind, tired of being depressed.

Tired of life.

And the suicidal thoughts would start entering your mind, one by one. And then you'd start listening to it.  
And then you'd get all things ready. The rope hanged, the podium set.

But then you'd brush it off.

Cause on that very moment, you'd think to yourself that you **can **make it, and you will make it.

And that'd be the moment when you realize that there's light everywhere.

That you're not as alone as you thought you were.

That in two bad things that happened to you, they were one good thing in between, hidden, waiting to be noticed.

Waiting to be appreciated.

That maybe this whole journey isn't all that bad.

That it was actually a polish.

To make you shinier.

To make you stronger.

To make you brighter than ever.

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Sooooooooo…

WHOSE POV IS THIS!?

And I know it's not as psychological as I thought it would be, but meh…

I'm actually quite proud of this one…

Layter.

- Elguardiuz


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